


Pinpricks of Light

by lanri



Series: Unseen [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blindness, Episode: Faith, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 1, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow it’s easier to have faith when everything is so dark. Tag to the episode Faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinpricks of Light

For the millionth and tenth time, Sam cursed his blindness. It was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to do anything during the hunt, but trying to find a solution for Dean was hard enough when Dean wasn’t particularly interested in helping.

“Dean, what does the article say?” Sam asked sharply.

His brother’s voice was too weak for Sam’s comfort. “Look, Sam, it’s stupid. This is a dead end.”

Sam was inexorable. “Dean.”

Dean groaned. “It’s just some nonsense about a faith healer, Sammy. Look, you’re probably not going to find anything, okay?”

“Read me the rest of the article.” Sam leaned forward, pushing aside his Braille version of their father’s journal and reaching out to reassure himself that Dean wouldn’t have another heart attack.

Dean thankfully put up with Sam’s mothering, only sighing as Sam found Dean’s pulse in his wrist.

“Where is the faith healer?” Sam asked.

“Nebraska.”

Sam nodded firmly. “It’s not that far. You don’t want to . . .”

“Thanks, but I can do without another heart attack,” Dean said drily. “No planes.”

“It’s just an airplane,” Sam muttered, carefully gathering up his things. He frowned. His sweatshirt had been folded on the edge of the bed, and now . . .

“I, uh, I’ve got your sweatshirt.”

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it. “Uh, I thought you always said hoodies were stupid.”

“It’s warm.” Dean’s tone was defensive, and Sam knew when to shut up. He finished packing silently and then reached over to help Dean up. Predictably, his brother batted away his hands, but Sam insisted. Without being able to see Dean, he had no idea whether Dean was about to fall or not. Best mode of action was to be there just in case.

“I’m not a baby. Just dying,” Dean huffed, and Sam inadvertently tightened his grip, probably to the point of painful, judging by Dean’s hiss.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, and somehow the two of them managed to get to the car, Sam’s cane nearly tripping Dean up on the way.

“Alright. We’re going to Nebraska, but don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“You’re sure you can drive?” Sam asked sharply, listening for Dean’s lying tone.

“Yeah, Sammy. Trust me. You know I wouldn’t risk crashing and get you killed.”

Reluctantly, Sam acknowledged the logic in that and slumped back against the passenger’s seat. “Talk to me?” he asked. He had to keep Dean awake and functioning, and getting his brother to talk about nothing was as easy as lying.

“Sure, Sam. What about?” The comforting rumble of the Impala further relaxed Sam.

“What did you do when I was gone?” Sam asked. The one nice thing about being blind was that he never had to avoid Dean’s gaze, which he imagined might be difficult to meet when he asked questions like that.

“Hunted, mostly. Got a job as a mechanic for a couple months.”

“Yeah?” Sam prompted.

Dean grew loquacious, describing the cars and the customers, and Sam allowed a smile to grow even as he tuned out the exact words Dean was saying. The faith healer would help Dean. And everything would be fine.

“Hey, Sam. You’re not paying attention, are you?” Dean’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Of course I am. Cars. And girls.”

Dean’s abusing epithets weren’t angry so much as it was fond. Sam basked in the glow.

“How ‘bout those hunts?” he finally asked after silence had settled for a while. “What was your worst one?”

“Sammy, don’t worry about that.”

“I always worry about you.” Sam turned his head away so that Dean wouldn’t be able to read his facial expression.

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t.”

“Tough.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean continued to talk.

* * *

Sam nearly fell as he levered himself out of the passenger door, the slick mud under his feet catching him by surprise. Dean hadn’t gotten out yet, which meant he was probably worse off than before. Sam hurried around the front of the Impala, yanking impatiently as his cane got stuck in the mud.

“Dean, you okay?” he worried.

“Dude, relax already.”

Sam snorted and didn’t bother answering that. His searching hands found Dean’s biceps, and he pulled his brother to his feet, despite the muttered grumblings.

“Dean, no heart failures, okay? We’ll take this slow.”

“You’re bossy when I’m the helpless one,” Dean grunted.

“Uh huh,” Sam said distractedly, getting a firmer grip on Dean’s shoulders. “Where’s the . . . the faith healer?”

“It looks like some kind of weird revival,” Dean said to him. “We’ve got a big tent and a bunch of people going in.”

“Okay, sounds good. Direction?” Sam nudged.

“One o’clock.”

Sam cursed under his breath as he tried to manage both his cane and Dean. “Dean, I’m leaving my cane. I’ll just stick with you.”

“Like you wouldn’t’ve anyway?” Sam could practically hear him rolling his eyes. Normally, Sam would’ve punched him in the shoulder for that tone, but that wasn’t an option.

“You two need help?” The female’s voice was to their left, and Sam jerked, automatically putting himself in front of Dean.

“We’re fine, sweetheart,” Dean said drily. “Skin’s itching from this place, but have to make Sam happy.”

“I’m sure the preacher can heal Sam,” the girl said.

Sam laughed at that. “We’re here for Dean,” he explained.

“Oh,” the girl fumbled, “well, God bless.”

“Thank you,” Sam returned. Dean was frighteningly quiet, and Sam squeezed his shoulder. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Sam, if this guy can heal people, maybe you . . .”

Sam let himself think briefly on it before shoving it away. “Even if I were blind, deaf, and missing a leg, we’re making sure you’re healed. I don’t care about me.”

“Course you don’t,” Dean grumbled. The hum of voices and movement became more fixed, and Sam realized they were in the tent.

“Here, Sammy. Right back here.”

“Dean, are there spots up front?” Sam didn’t let Dean pull him to the left or right. “Be honest. Please.”

“Yes,” Dean sighed. “For crying out loud, fine. Let’s go.”

The murmurs of people entering the tent and rustling as they sat down filled up Sam’s hearing for a while.

“Sam, what makes you . . . believe.”

“I just have faith.”

“Why? What’d life ever do right for you, huh?”

Sam clenched a hand on the edge of the chair. “It’s not about that, Dean.” If Dean didn’t realize that sometimes faith was all he had to hold to, then he would never understand.

Dean made a vague noise of disbelief, but let it go.

Sam waited on tenterhooks as the service started and Roy LeGrange began his process in finding his next person.

“You, son. That’s right, you.”

Sam cocked his head at the crowd’s silence. “Dean, who’s he pointing at?” he hissed in his brother’s ear.

“You, Sam. Go up. He wants to heal you.”

“No,” he gasped, appalled. “No, he needs to heal you.”

“He’s looking at you, man.”

“Don’t be afraid, child. I can help you. I can give your sight back.”

For a terrifying moment, desire welled up in Sam, deep and far too strong before he shoved it back down.

“Please sir. No. My brother, he’s dying. Heal him. Please, I’m begging you.” Sam slid to his knees, clasping his hands together. Distantly, he realized he probably looked ridiculous, but that didn’t matter. The healer had to heal Dean. “I don’t need my sight, I need my brother. In God’s name, please. Heal Dean.”

The silence was oppressive.

“God hears your prayers. Dean, will you come forward?”

Sam didn’t even realize he was crying until Dean was pushing him back into his seat.

“You’re such an idiot,” Dean breathed before moving past him, to the front.

Sam couldn’t see what was going on, but there was a sound of Dean collapsing as LeGrange said his prayer, and he groped his way to the front, falling down on his knees next to Dean.

“Dean?” His voice sounded high and terrified to his own ears. Under his fingers though, Dean’s pulse was settling, not the weak beats of before, but a strong, steady drumming.

“Dean,” Sam gasped.

“Sammy?” Dean mumbled.

“He is healed!” the preacher announced. Sam officially did not care that they were in front of a whole crowd of people and clutched Dean to his chest, igniting his brother’s muted protests and squirming.

“Dean, it worked,” he breathed. “It worked.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Now will you stop acting like a girl and help me up?”

Sam couldn’t stop beaming as they made their way down from the front. Several murmurs followed him, saying things like “that’s so wonderful” and “poor kid.”

“Sheesh, Sam, looking at you someone would think it’s your birthday.”

“Might as well be,” Sam said joyfully.

“Hate to burst your bubble, but there is something off about what that guy does.”

Sam’s felt his smile slide away. “What do you mean?”

“I mean right before he healed me, I saw something.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

* * *

Part of Dean wanted to rejoice, to get lost in Sam’s huge smiles and celebrate. Because he wasn’t dying anymore.

The rest of him knew it wasn’t that simple.

The truth came out far too easily; life exchanged for life. A man had died because of Dean’s healing.

“We never should’ve come here,” Dean snarled. Sam was standing there placidly, and Dean resisted the urge to hit him, or shake him, or something. “He’s dead because of me, Sam.”

“No, he’s dead because of LeGrange. We didn’t know.”

Dean gestured violently, enough that Sam probably got the brush of air from it, seeing his twitch. “That doesn’t matter! We knew something was up—people aren’t just healed without something being wrong.”

“Why?”

Dean’s tirade stopped. “Why what?”

“Why can’t there be something good in this world for once? Together, we see the dark. We are nearly drowning in it. Why can’t there be something good?” Sam’s tone had slipped into anguished.

“Sammy,” Dean said helplessly.

“I don’t care. I don’t care that some guy’s dead because you’re alive. And I’m selfish and going to Hell for that, but I just don’t care. You can hate me for this, that’s fine. I want . . . I can’t lose you.”

Dean sighed. “I don’t hate you. And trust me, you don’t have the monopoly on selfish. You know, even now, after we know something’s up, I still want to pretend we don’t, go back in there, and get you healed.”

Sam smiled wryly. “Too late for that.”

“I suppose.” Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. “Well, let’s take this guy down, huh?”

Sam’s smile wasn’t as wide as when Dean had been healed, but it was still there. “You got it.”

It wasn’t the hardest case they’d ever had, and the pieces of the puzzle were relatively easy to put together—a reaper on a leash, LeGrange’s “powers,” his wife’s involvement.

But as Dean tried to destroy the altar, he ended up trapped, with a reaper headed after Sammy, and Dean found himself wishing that he had just died from his heart and they had never come to the place.

And the sight that met Dean’s eyes once he had destroyed the amulet connecting LeGrange’s wife to the reaper had his heart stopping once more.

“Sam!” he bellowed, skidding to a stop in the mud in front of his prone body.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was bewildered. “Something touched me. I think the other man was running from it, but I couldn’t see it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean pulled Sam up, allowing himself one moment to hold Sam and make sure his heart was still beating. “We’re okay. We’re okay, now.”

“You’re good, right?” Sam checked.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, imaging for a moment if he had died from his heart failing, and what that might have done to Sam. Or himself if the reaper had gotten Sam, and what he . . . Dean couldn’t let it get so close again. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Sam. We’re good.”

“That’s why I have faith,” Sam said. “I’ve still got you.”

Dean swallowed. “What if you don’t?”

Sam’s fingers clenched spastically in Dean’s—well, Sam’s—hoodie. “I have faith, Dean. I don’t need to see everything laid out in front of me.”

Dean didn’t really understand, yet. So he just let it go.


End file.
